


Warmth

by kate_the_reader



Series: The season [9]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge 2019 (Good Omens), Ficlet, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:48:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21736321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kate_the_reader/pseuds/kate_the_reader
Summary: A festive treat leads to a new mission
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The season [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564690
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Warmth

He’s slowly relaxing into this so-called festive season, trying to enjoy the things that make Aziraphale happy, and let the other things slide. 

At first, they don’t go out much, it’s easier when it’s just them at home, beneath the twinkling lights. The ones Aziraphale strung up are all white, very pretty, but Crowley added a string of coloured ones that blink on and off. In the dark shop, they remind him of the neon that used to decorate Soho, back when it was all nightclubs and sex shops — with one incongruous antiquarian bookshop marooned in the sea of sinfulness. He’s not sure why he would want to remember that time when he was desperate enough to plan a mad scheme to obtain something that Aziraphale had refused him. Why he would want to remember Aziraphale sitting in his car, coloured lights painting his lovely hair in bright colours as he both gave Crowley what he wanted and refused him again. He’s not sure why, but now coloured lights playing over Aziraphale’s hair also remind him that if you wait long enough, with enough faith, if you go slowly, you may have at last what you have always, always desired.

So they stay in, beneath their festive lights, and he relaxes into this holiday season.

But some days, you can’t stay in, when the sun comes out, and the air feels washed clean.

“Come for a walk?” he says, and Aziraphale winds a scarf round his neck and Crowley gets a chance to wear his swooping black coat, the one with the red silk lining, and he offers Aziraphale his arm, tucking his hand tight beneath his elbow as they stroll in the park, where there is a thin skin of ice at the edge of the water and children run along the paths shouting to each other.

There is a little cart at the junction of two paths, steam rising from it. 

“Roasted chestnuts!” says Aziraphale, so Crowley buys a bag and they eat them as they continue their walk, burning their fingertips as they pluck them from the rustling paper.

“You used to get these everywhere, long ago,” says Aziraphale, “especially when the winters were particularly hard.” There’s a shadow over his face. Everyone has memories that are difficult. “I used to feel helpless, in the face of so much suffering. And there is still so much. In this day and age! People sleeping in doorways!”

“We could help, both of us,” says Crowley.

They have finally found a way to pass the season that makes both of them happy. They don’t stay in all the time now, but go for walks, always with a large carrier bag full of warm jackets, and they talk to the doorway sleepers, listen to their stories. Both of them know what it’s like, to be cast out by your family, because you are different, because you won’t warp yourself to fit in. 


End file.
